Abandon
by Kioko Mitsu
Summary: Digimon, Weiss Kreuz style - the non-florist way! Can you say, "Twisted?" Daisuke's got a man in mind, but not for the reasons we the fangirls would hope. His new target, Ken, has suddenly made life a lot more complicated. (Woot woot! Chapter 5/? up!)
1. (Prologue) Lost

Disclaimer: Digimon couldn't be more NOT mine. If I owned Digimon, apples would be oranges and everyone would be gay. But they're not. So we don't. So there. I'm not getting any profit of this story, unfortunately, so please don't sue me. One, because I don't any of this. Two, I'm not getting any profit out of this, so what would you sue me FOR? Want some pocket lint? I also have this very nice pen that I stole from a hotel. You can have that, if you want. This disclaimer applies to every chapter of the fic, because I don't feel like putting it in every damn time.

Warnings: This is shounen ai. Everything that comes from my pen/keyboard WILL BE SHOUNEN AI. Keep in mind, this is Fanfiction, and also an AU, so you might as well forget everything you ever knew about the show. I have an extreme dislike for Digimon, apparently, because they've never made an appearance in any fic I've written, and probably won't any time soon. So don't get your hopes up. Also, you can expect some language, violence, and anything else I feel like throwing in at the time. Take the warning seriously, whatever it is now. I honestly don't have any idea. I'm not redoing this again, and the rating's gonna change as it goes along. So there. 

Notes: If you hadn't noticed yet, I changed the format. Of everything. It's a little weird, isn't it? I hope it doesn't bother you guys too much, but if it does…well, I guess that's too bad, because I'm not changing it. XD I really apologize if it does, though.

PROLOGUE

The rain was violent, screaming down in angry torrents and splashing against the rough concrete pavements of the sidewalk and pathways outside.  Anda Cho, the front desk secretary of Yukimoto Academy, was settled comfortably in her chair, sorting dorm room assignments on the computer – she was a terrible procrastinator, really, and she hadn't done them yet.  The new semester was starting soon, and the headmistress Akimoto Toshi would be angry if they weren't done soon.  Hell hath no fury like Toshi discovering her expressly requested dorm arrangements were incomplete.

Chilled by a frightening – but somewhat amusing – mental image of Toshi bearing down on her, glasses catching the light menacingly and demanding that she have the dorm assignments NOW – not tomorrow, not later, but NOW! – Cho typed faster, driven by fear of her somewhat crazy superior.

For you see, Toshi was a very scary woman when she was angry. There was a certain way her clipped brown hair would sway as she gestured madly, caught in the flow of her frustration, and a special way her matching eyes would fade to an almost black; voids as dark as space, and just as cold, too.

…Cho most definitely typed faster now, flicking through the paperwork strewn on her desk at the remembrance of just how loudly and shrilly Toshi could yell. She had entrusted this job to Cho, and Cho alone – and by God, Cho would finish it!

It was around then that the revolving glass doors spun open, the young woman rushing in and dripping summer rain in soft, crystalline streams onto the tile floor. She looked breathless, her brown eyes tired but still possessing more life than Cho could ever hope to obtain, her chest heaving under the red sweatshirt she wore…

…and at her side, a teenage boy was standing, somehow managing to look brave, frightened, stubborn, and terribly young at the same time. He was wearing muted colors – a faded brown shirt and black slacks, but his hair was spiky and wine-colored, and his eyes were soft and much like hot chocolate; just as smooth and brown and warm.

All of this she noticed, but all she said was, "Can I help you?"

"I need to enroll this boy for the year," the woman said, sounding even more breathless than she looked, which is a hard thing to do, you know. Idly, she squeezed some water from the spikes of her hair, and Cho noticed that it resembled the boy's greatly.

"I'm sorry," Cho said, only half working on the dorm assignments now, "but there aren't any boarding rooms open, and it's too late to enroll, anyway." A pause. "I really am sorry."

She slumped like someone had deflated her.  She wailed, "But you don't understand!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am –"

"I can pay you extra," she said, hurriedly, and pulling money out of a small purse Cho hadn't even noticed she had. "Really, please, please, I can't take care of him, you have to accept him –"

Cho had stood by now, planting her hands on her hips and her feet firmly in front of the redhead. "I said I'm **sorry**, ma'am, but we simply don't have any rooms open!"

"Like I said," the other woman hadn't even paused for breath yet, "it's very important that he gets in this year, he's…I can't…" She finally sucked in a gulp of air, feeding on it to refuel her intensity, and seemed to compose herself. She smoothed over her wet hair and wrung some of the summer rain from her clothing. "I'm sorry." She looked up, and straight into Cho's eyes. "Can I speak to the headmaster, please?"

Considering the look of fierce determination on the woman's face, and the shy, embarrassed look mixing in with the enigma of other emotions stirring about the teenager…

"I'll be just a minute," said Cho, and disappeared from the room.

The woman turned to the boy, gripping his shoulder. "I have to go now," she said, her voice a fierce whisper. "You be good and don't get yourself kicked out, squirt. I'm not coming back for you."

"I know." He paused to embrace her. "I won't miss how lazy you were, Jun, or how you went after every guy we passed, but…"

"It's okay, stupid. I get what you mean, Daisuke; you don't have to tell the world about it." She returned the hug, and Daisuke wisely refrained from questioning what world he was telling all this to – they were alone in the room. "For all your stupid jokes and weird habits, I'm gonna miss you too," she told him.

She released him, quickly crossing the room with hurried, clumsy steps to steal a piece of crisp white paper from Cho's printer, and a pen from the holder on the desk. Hurriedly, she scrawled something on it in careless script and folded it on the desk, leaving the money she'd pulled from her purse by it.  She then went to the doorway, only pausing to look back at Daisuke over her shoulder with worry in her eyes.

"Hey, squirt –" she began.

"I'll be fine," he waved her off, "don't worry about me, stupid." Then he grinned, his teeth flashing white as lightning scorched across the sky outside, illuminating all the world for a moment with a halo of fresh and scattered rain, and for that moment – just that one moment, she believed him.

When Cho returned to the room, Daisuke was standing  where Jun had left him, and Toshi thoughtfully went around her coworker to pick up the note left by Jun on the desk. It read:

_This is Motomiya Daisuke, he isn't any trouble._

Comments are strongly encouraged. Um, I love you...?


	2. Destination

Notes: Mm, well, here's where the story takes the biggest change you'll ever see. If anyone was expecting this, you definitely get a cookie. No, a truckload of cookies! …and for everyone that didn't see it coming, well, let me assure you: you are not alone.

CHAPTER ONE

Cho and Toshi were exchanging worried looks over a desk of paperwork.

"There aren't any rooms open," Cho was saying, flicking through the papers and occasionally stopping to lick her fingers before she resumed, "there just **aren't**."

"What are we going to do with him?" Toshi asked, seriously. She was leaning her elbow on the polished wooden desk, her hand pillowing her chin. They were in Toshi's office, which was further inside the building, but still sharing a wall with Cho. Her ankles were crossed, and she had her eyebrow raised as if to say, "What the hell do we do **now**?"

"I don't know," Cho said, and quite honestly, she didn't. "We've got an abandoned sixteen-year-old sitting in the next room whom we know absolutely nothing about, and we haven't even got a place to put him."

"We know his name is Daisuke," Toshi pointed out. "And we don't even know he's sixteen. He just looks like it." Cho made a face.

"You just **had** to correct me."

And indeed, she had. That's just the way Toshi was, you see. All smug smiles, filled to the brim with arrogant corrections. But everyone loved her for it. Or almost anyone, anyway.

"True," Toshi said, and her teeth were white when she smiled. "But we really do have to come up with a solution, here." She paused, and her smile grew. You know, I hear you've got extra room in your apartment -"

"**No**."

Suddenly, Toshi was smacking her hands down on the desk, and the sound resonated around the room menacingly. Her glasses caught the light when she raised her head, and her voice had her trademark "higher-than-thou" tone.

"Listen," she said, and her voice was as cold as her almost black eyes, "we have a teenage boy in there with nowhere to go. He's soaked with rain, his sister - at least I'm guessing his sister, because it would be a sin if she were a mother to him that young - has just abandoned him, and he's probably very confused. Or at least a little bit scared." A full, pregnant pause. "Are you just going to abandon him like this?"

"Hey," Cho said, raising her hands to defend herself, "your apartment's bigger than mine, you know, so you're abandoning him, too!"

Toshi was suddenly calm again, leaning back and tapping her lower lip with a pretty, pink manicured nail. Then, she said, slowly, "I'll dock your pay your pay if you don't."

Cho glared. "Fine," she said, "but I won't like it."

---

At that moment, Daisuke was pulling his ear away from the wall (the little eavesdropper), and he was smiling.

"Way to go, stupid," he whispered, in fond reference to his sister, and sat in the same chair that Cho had occupied earlier.  This plan was going to work well, he decided. The door opened, again producing Cho and Toshi - in that order, and the smile quickly dropped.

Cho paused in front of him, her dark eyes watching him with what she considered a friendly look while she ran tired fingers through her stringy hair. Eventually, she sighed, gripping the edge of the desk and speaking softly, "We don't have room for you at the school."

His hopes fell, but his face remained intact.

"But..."

And just like that, with that one tiny word his hopes inflated again. He was struck by a funny mental image of it, but he didn't let himself laugh at it. Once, just this once, he had to stay serious and not let them know they - he and Jun -  had this planned.

But you guys knew that all along, huh?

"But?" he echoed her.

_Parrot_, his mind supplied in its familiar quirky way.

"But," she sighed, and her bangs blew about her face for one frenzied moment, "you will be staying with me, and you will still attend the school. You will ride with me every morning, since I work here, so you'll be early." Suddenly, she glared, and her dark eyes weren't so friendly anymore - by anyone's standards. "So you'll have no excuses if you're late. Just because you live with me, we won't take it easy on you. Consider yourself lucky."

Toshi, from behind Cho, was smiling at him from underneath her thick-rimmed glasses. She extended a hand, and he gripped it, watching with fascination the way her pink nails caught and reflected the light. Jun's nails had always been a little grungy, but they'd never had much money, so he supposed that was acceptable. It had taken a year of saving and a lot of pick pocketing - he was a natural, you know; a good, fast lift - to get the money for him to stay here while Jun went off to do God knows what, but they had.

"I'm the headmistress, Akimoto Toshi," she introduced herself, and tucked a piece of brown hair behind her ear with a swift, practiced ease, and he had to admire her again, because he'd never been that graceful or that swift. He was a little - actually, a lot -  clumsy, much like his sister.

Well, in everything but pick pocketing, that is. You have to keep in mind the essentials, here.

"Motomiya Daisuke," he said, and he grinned the same grin he'd given to Jun before she'd left, his teeth just as white but without the dramatics of the lightning, and Toshi relaxed a little. He didn't seem like any trouble at all, really.

She said, "Pleased to meet you. School starts in two weeks."

---

The school uniform wasn't exactly flattering, but then again, none are, as far as school uniforms go.  The blazer was dark blue, so at least he liked the color - because everyone likes dark blue, right?  He was instructed to wear a white button-up dress shirt beneath it, but he'd left the top two unbuttoned, just for fun, and was currently wrestling with a tie that matched perfectly the blazer. His pants were black, and in much better condition than the ones he'd been wearing for the past two weeks. Black, relatively shiny shoes would complete the outfit, but they were currently waiting on the mat by the door.

Cho had grudgingly had to buy him the shoes, of course, since his old ones were scuffed and brown - the complete wrong color, you know. Toshi had told him about that.

Making a strangled noise, he finally tugged the tie from his neck, crumpling it in his hand and leaving the bathroom - past the pale white walls of his currently barren bedroom (and it would probably stay that way, too; Cho was a little stingy) and into the main room, where Cho was waiting, tapping her foot on the carpeting.

"What's taking so long?" she asked, pushing back the fabric of her shirt sleeve to reveal her watch. "We should have left five minutes ago."

Wordlessly, he opened his hand to reveal the disheveled tie, and Cho only sighed, throwing her hands in the air as though the world were going to end and taking the necessary steps to walk reach him.

"You," she said, tugging the tie from his hand and into place around his neck, "are hopeless."

She paused, staring at the tie, and bit her lip.

"How are you supposed to do these, anyway?"

Daisuke only shrugged; said, "Hell if I know."

...needless to say, they were late for the first day of school.

---

He didn't like many of his classes. He didn't like bschool/b, for that matter, but for the sake of Jun - for the sake of the Motomiya family, and their honor, he would suffer it.

But only for a little while, mind you. Because when we say Daisuke didn't like school, we mean he did **not** like school.

His History teacher was getting horribly off subject in his lecture - he'd been going on about the Meiji Era for the past ten minutes, maybe, and Daisuke had stopped taking notes about twenty ago. Instead, he'd been fingering a small, creased photograph in his pocket, his eyes fixed on a soft, silky head of blue hair that was maybe two seats in front of him.

Daisuke grit his teeth, and his hand twitched, creasing the picture further.

_It's him_, he thought. _He's really here. Jun was right. We came to the right school._

**doki doki**

It would be simple enough, he supposed. Jun had planned this all out, after all - and for all the boy obsessing and flaky exterior, he knew she always came through when it counted. They were the last two Motomiyas, after all, since...

**doki-doki-doki-doki**

This was his target. This was his reason to live. The Motomiya name would not be shamed, and Daisuke would finally sleep peacefully at night, without the weight of his parents' death settled firmly on his chest, and the thought of revenge living sinfully in his heart.

He rubbed his shoulder in thought. He was meeting Jun later that day, for a weapon exchange, then he would wait until nightfall, and then...

Daisuke smirked.

He would finish the job, then disappear, just like always.

---

School really hadn't been too bad, Daisuke concluded as he began walking down the front pathway of the school, past the dormitories and other students and to Cho's small black car. It was pulled up in front, and Cho was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for him.

As he neared, he gestured for her to roll down the window, and she did. He tried to grin - look charming, or something ridiculous like that. Anything to make her agree to what he was about to ask next.

"Could I stay here - with a friend, for a bit? It's my first one in a while."

Cho opened her mouth to disagree, but he was already a step ahead of her.

"I promise - I'll find my own ride home, you won't have to come get me."

"Fine." She faced ahead of her, sighing as if she could care less, but he caught her slipping a look at him through the corner of her eyes.  As an afterthought, she said, "Just don't get yourself killed."

Daisuke grinned again. "I won't."

She pulled away, and he waited for her to drive out of sight until he began walking steadily away from the school, pulling a slip of paper from his pockets that he'd had to transfer there from his original pair of black pants. He squinted at it with dark, mischievous brown eyes, and his smile never faded. After a moment, he crumpled it in his fist and deposited it in the nearest trash can.

"See you soon, Jun," he whispered to the afternoon air, craning his neck back to stare at the sky.

---

Jun stood, waiting, in the shadows of the alley wall, chewing on her knuckles nervously. An ugly habit, really, but at least she wasn't chewing her fingernails. Because that, as we all know, is a **truly** ugly habit. The air around her felt heavy, and looking at the clouds rolling around above her, she guessed it was going to rain again.

She smirked to herself, rubbing a spot on her shoulder absently. Rain was always nice on nights like these...

Another shadow emerged, suddenly from the alley wall, and stood next to hers, slightly smaller but emitting a flame that could not be matched.

Daisuke grinned. "So, what's going on?"

A glare. "Don't be stupid, squirt." Jun released her knuckles from her mouth, wiping them on her shirt before digging into a large pocket on the side of her pants. She handed him something small in a dark sheath. It flashed briefly in the light escaping the clouds when he pulled it out.

"Nice," he said, stopping for a moment to admire the dagger before replacing it in the sheath.

"I'm glad we found the right school," Jun murmured, relaxing against the wall of the alley. In the shadows, it was much cooler than the summer air around her, and she savored it, pressing her palms against the brick. "I was worried..."

"You?" Daisuke asked, raising both his eyebrows. "Worried? I don't believe it."

Jun only shrugged. "It's important that we get this one. He's the last..."

Daisuke put the dagger securely in his pocket, shaking his head. "He's got a brother, remember?"

She flinched. "Well, don't remind me, stupid! I haven't found him yet."

"Well, work on it." He made to leave, then paused to embrace her once, quickly. She gave him a bundle of dark clothes and smiled.

"I'll find him. Just...you don't screw up, okay?"

He nodded. "Good luck."

"Yeah." She mussed his hair. "You too, squirt."

Daisuke grinned and ran back into the shadows to wait for night to fall.

Well. Raise your hand if you were expecting that. *crickets chirp; no one does so* Ahh-HA! That's what I thought. Review if you want me to keep going!


	3. Discovery

Notes: Okay, all you homophobes - I don't know how you got past the first chapters, but now it's time for you to go away. This chapter has Daiken. I warned you all before, so if you didn't get the point then, please get it now. In other words, GO AWAY RIGHT NOW. ... But have a nice day. ^^

CHAPTER TWO

He felt safe; protected in the warm arms of night. He matched it perfectly in his black attire, which he had changed into almost immediately following his meeting with Jun. His school uniform had been hidden safely nearby.

Night. He breathed in the air, smiling. This was his time. This was his way – the way of his family, of everyone originating from the disbanded Underworld.

Underworld, his home. Gone now, though… He felt a slight wistfulness sing through his veins – but it was fleeting, and he remembered instantly to concentrate solely on the task on hand.

Red brick. Gray street. Yellow lamplight. Black sky. White stars. 

Daisuke smiled as the moon was taken by a cloud, and he moved from his hiding place within the deepest shadows and into the lighter ones where he walked steadily toward the outside walls of the dormitory building. There, he stuck again to the warm cloaking of darkness, counting windows as he skulked along.

Ken was in the fifth row from where he was. Slowly, he moved beneath it and ducked under the windowsill there, revising facts in his head.

It was, perhaps, eleven O'clock. Curfew was in a half an hour. But Ichijouji Ken would have been inside his dorm ever since school let out, hours and hours ago.

Quickly, Daisuke looked above him and saw one small light, swamped by closed drapes, barely illuminating an open window two places above him. There were other lights, bright dotted windows along the dark building reminding him somewhat of stars in the black sky, but that one, that one special window above him was the one he concentrated on. That window was Ken's, it was open,  the light was on, and that was all he cared about in that moment.

_Still awake, I see._

Well, that was no problem – not really. Turning, Daisuke felt along the rough wall – it was old and poorly cared for, really, despite the good reputation the school had – and discovered appropriate finger holds, and the corresponding foot holds below them.

He smirked, curving his body away from the windows as he climbed, feeling the rough calluses on his hands grip the wall – they'd appeared after many other jobs such as this, and now he actually appreciated them. Then, under Ken's window, he waited, and his mouth blew shut, stilling his breath as he listened.

Crickets. Wind blowing through the trees. Laughter in two voices – a couple somewhere nearby, perhaps. Faint footsteps.

He shook some of the wine-colored hair away from his eyes so he could survey his situation. No one within sight so far. Before he'd settled into the shadows, perhaps ten minutes prior, he'd made a fast circle around the building for any teachers or students loitering about.

None.

This was the best chance he'd get, lest he wait until the mysterious hours of the morning known only as wee, but he didn't quite fancy the idea. Hearing the world still for one moment during which his heartbeat was the loudest sound, he pulled out his dagger and swung himself up into the window – exploding out of the drapes and rolling onto the floor to emerge poised with his weapon aimed towards a slim white throat.

Ichijouji Ken stared, a dirty rag caught halfway in cleaning an exquisite sword. Neither moved, both waiting for the other to make the first move…

Ken was the first to break the spell, raising a single elegant eyebrow in an expression that spoke more than words, as if to say, "Well? What are you waiting for?"

Daisuke, however, had already lost himself and all sense of his mission, staring into the fearless violet eyes of his target. _He's not afraid…why?_

"You…" He cleared his throat; his voice came out much too roughly. He began again. "You're Ichijouji Ken?"

The boy across from him shrugged, eyebrow still raised. "I am. What of it?"

His eyes narrowed, "You killed my parents."

Ken lowered his eyebrow and his gaze returned lazily downward. "No." Sensing the threat had lessened, he resumed polishing his sword, but did not see the need to wield it properly – not just yet. "That was Osamu."

"Your brother?"

A swift nod. "Mm. He never really liked the Underworld." He paused. "I don't think he really belonged there, anyway."

By this point, the point of Daisuke's dagger had lowered slightly. "You don't seem like you belong in the Underworld either."

"I suppose I don't." He did not raise his eyes from the sword while he spoke. "How is it doing, anyway? The Underworld. Haven't heard about it in years."

Daisuke scrunched his face. "It disbanded," he said, forcing the words through his teeth.

Ken's movements were halted, briefly; when he began again, they were jerked and a little uncomfortable. "How's that?"

"People like you."

"You mean my brother," Ken corrected smoothly. "I don't do the whole 'assassin' thing. I'm a student, now." His eyes were soft and warm while still remaining aloof, like the twilight Daisuke so adored. He felt himself drawn, but stood his ground, firmly.

Daisuke didn't know what to say to that. There was silence for a while.

Then, sudden movement as Daisuke moved closer to him.

Ken did not respond.

_Why isn't he afraid…that I'll kill him?_ Daisuke held out his dagger, aimed once again toward Ken's pretty throat, and frowned. "I'll let you live tonight," he said, his voice soft, "if you can answer my question."

Ken shrugged, his skinny shoulders moving only slightly while he worked. "I don't really care."

Daisuke leaned in. "Why do you want to die?"

"…what makes you think that?" Ken raised his impossibly wide eyes to Daisuke's, slowly. His pulse thundered.

**doki-doki-doki-doki**

When their eyes met, he knew he didn't ever want to look away.

"You aren't afraid, even though you know I'll kill you. You should be pointing that sword at me right now," he motioned to it, and his eyes softened warmly into the hot chocolate color that suited him so well. "Ichijouji Ken," he tested out the name again, "Why do you want to die?"

Ken only sighed, dropping his twilight eyes and the dirty rag onto the bedside where he sat. "I lied to you earlier," he whispered.

"About what?" Daisuke asked, blinking hard.

"I was an assassin." He twisted his hands around in his lap, biting his lip. He closed his eyes. "I was – for a long time, I was. My last target…"

"What about him?"

"Well." Tears mysteriously began bleeding from underneath his eyelashes. "It was my brother."

Daisuke held his breath, paused, reconsidered, then let it out in one long, slow puff. "Jun's off hunting a ghost," he mused to himself, shaking his head. "She's stupid. Should've known better, anyway." Smirking, he shook his head again, still in disbelief.

"Is Jun…the other Motomiya?"

Remembering where he was, Daisuke steeled the grip on his dagger, looking up and firmly into Ken's newly opened eyes. "My sister, yes." He paused, then smiled in fond recollection of his boy obsessive older sibling. He added, "Unfortunately."

"I've heard about you two," Ken said, the tears dripping down his face slowly, shimmering faintly in the soft light of the room. "A team. The Motomiyas of the Underworld…" He paused then, heaving a sigh, and looked at him. "I have to confess, you know. I lied to you again."

"What?" Daisuke asked, watching with fascination the way the salty moisture rolled down Ken's cheeks.

"I knew about the Underworld falling," he said, quietly and with kindness in his voice – it suited him. "I knew. Osamu was… Well, he was an important part in that, I suppose. But…" Here, he leaned closer to Daisuke, who had lowered the dagger between them. The sword was sliding from his lap, so he gripped it while he spoke, "There were rumors, once. About rebuilding. About – about the Motomiyas of the Underworld, starting it again."

Daisuke frowned. "That was a long time ago," he said, bitterly, and looked away.

"Oh." Ken's voice was small as he sat back. The sword clattered to the ground, gaining Daisuke's attention.

"If you're not an assassin anymore," he said, slowly, as if trying to figure out a puzzle as he went along, "why do you keep a sword in your room?"

"Oh, that." He kicked at it with a socked foot, shrugging. "You interrupted me. I was going to…" He trailed off, biting his lower lip, which was chapped. "Never mind. It's not important."

"Yes it is," he said, staring at Ken, until his attention was caught by the wind blowing in through the window, disturbing a sheet of paper on the desk. "Homework?" he guessed, trying to smile at him.

"No. Suicide note," Ken said, rising and bringing the sword up with him. At Daisuke's open-mouthed, surprised expression, he smiled. "That's why I was so surprised when you asked me why I wanted to die. I was wondering how you knew."

"Why would you want to… I mean… The idea of someone willingly killing themselves, not being murdered by someone else, but… **willingly**…" Daisuke sputtered for words, going through them all, but in the end only returning with one: "Why?"

"Guilt." Despairingly. Ken turned the sword over in his hands, repeatedly, admiring the way it stole the light only to reflect it in a million different places. "Mainly, anyway." He sighed, turning his eyes to Daisuke's, dark with melancholy. "I mean, imagine Jun. She's… You love her, right?"

Uneasy nodding. 

"Well…" Abruptly, he halted all his movements, staring only at the sliver of his reflection in the blade of his sword. "Imagine…she's doing something you know is wrong. Destroying the home of so many others. And – and you **have** to stop her. I mean, there's no other way. These people…their lives will all be ruined. Forever." He paused to take a deep, shuddering breath. "And – you try to reason with her, you know. You try. You cry and you beg and you plead with her, but she's too stubborn, and too set on what she thinks is **right**. So you do the only thing you can, right? You stop her. Forever…" Here, his breathing hitched, and the tears spilled in earnest. It was obvious who he was talking about now. "How would you be able to sleep at night, with the face your sister wore when she died, stuck in your head like that – permanently? How could you live with yourself?"

"I…" Daisuke stared at him, eyes resembling the size of saucers, at a loss for words. "I don't know…"

"I mean," Ken barely uttered a watery laugh, "if you had to choose – and I mean if you absolutely **had** to choose – would you pick the group of people  she would undoubtedly, wrongly and eventually kill, or…" He sighed, looking up at him. "Or would you choose the person you loved most in life? I mean, it's not fair to hold someone's life in such high esteem like that, is it? You never know – one of the women might be pregnant – and the **children**, there were **children** that he considered among his enemies. How can you make a decision like that?"

"You did." Daisuke could point out the obvious very well.

"Yes. I did." Ken advanced on him, then, so he could look into his eyes without hindrance, and Daisuke could see the regret there. "But did I make the right choice, Daisuke, if I have to live like this every day?"

"I never told you my name was Daisuke."

Ken laughed again – a little watery, but perhaps genuinely amused. "Everyone knows who Motomiya Daisuke is. They've heard the stories. Spiked red hair, pretty brown eyes, ruthless, but friendly and childish if you're the right kind of person." He paused, and smirked. "Besides, I have History class with you."

"Oh, yeah." Daisuke was temporarily sheepish, but it passed quickly. "But you made the right choice, Ken. A group of people is always more important than one."

"Really?" Suddenly, Ken's face was just that much closer to him, and he could feel his breath hitting his lips. "What would you have done? A living legend like you."

"I'm not a living legend," he said, modestly, "and that isn't a fair question. Jun wouldn't do that."

"I didn't think Osamu would do it, either."

"Osamu was crazy," Daisuke said, glaring, and was slapped by an irate Ken.

Ken scowled, "He wasn't. He was lead astray. I should have saved him."

"But you didn't, and now he's dead."

They both stopped moving then, realizing just how close they were, and just what Daisuke had been here to do.

"You answered my question," Daisuke whispered. "So you can live. It's a privilege, you know, so," he looked pointedly at the sword still clasped in Ken's hands, "don't waste it."

Ken nodded, slowly, while he studied Daisuke with warm eyes that had somehow gotten to the wild-haired assassin. "I understand." With graceful movements, he placed the sword in a corner, never taking his gaze from the boy standing near the window. "I think that if I can't live for myself, maybe I could live…" he trailed off again, and shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?"

"I think you've given me, maybe, something to live for," Ken whispered, looking incredibly small and feeble bathed in weak lamplight; dark violet eyes and unkempt blue hair.

Daisuke only smiled. "Well, that's good, because things are going to get a little crazy from here on."

"What do you mean?"

Laughter. "Well, Jun is going to be pissed off when she discovers she's been chasing a ghost,  while here I am, having a conversation with the person I'm supposed to be killing – and my God! She's going to be even angrier when she finds out I haven't killed you. And to top it all off…" Taking a chance, he kissed Ken once, quickly, then backpedaled until his thighs collided with the windowsill, "I think I've got something more to live for, too."

There was a slight disturbance of drapes, and Daisuke was gone.

Ken, stunned, remembered to rush to the window seconds too late, only catching the disappearing backside of the redhead as he disappeared into the night. He smiled, though, while he watched him, and touched a finger to his lips.

"A little crazy indeed," he murmured, and shut the window.

Well, there you go. That's chapter two. But seriously, it's not what you think. Don't get excited or angry or anything - not yet, anyway.


	4. Betrayal

Notes: Umm... Yeah. Things change. It sucks. Read.

CHAPTER THREE

Stupid. How many times had he heard Jun call him that? She'd been right.

It had been stupid. Incredibly stupid. The most stupid thing he'd ever done in his life.

Daisuke stood outside of Cho's apartment door, frozen halfway while reaching for the spare key hidden poorly in the loose flooring, caught in his thoughts. He hadn't been expecting to ever return here, so he hadn't brought it with him, but now that he was here…

He squeezed his eyes shut, slipping the key into the lock and swinging the door open.

It had been a bad move, letting Ken live. Even worse, kissing him – what had he been **thinking**? Damn his impulsiveness. It was reckless, but…it seemed like the thing to do at the time. And besides, he looked so lost, standing in a poorly lit room with his hair ruffled like that. His eyes were melancholy. It was hard to resist a picture like that. It was art, or something. And Ken had shared his pain with him…

After taking something like that, it was only right to try and help him a little, right?

_Something to live for._

Slowly, he entered the apartment, slipping off his shoes – he'd changed back into his crumpled school uniform after a small debate. It wouldn't do to come home in all black, carrying a dagger.

No, it simply would **not** do.

He paused, mid-step, noticing belatedly that the kitchenette light was still on. Curiously, he walked on tip-toes to the switch on the wall, flicking it and casting the room into darkness. The moonlight was bleeding in through the open window, past the curtains, and illuminated the hunched, sleeping figure in the room's only armchair.

Daisuke couldn't resist a smile.

"She worried about me," he murmured, moving quietly to stand beside Cho. "And here I was, concerned that she'd ground me."

Briefly, he disappeared from the room to Cho's, retrieving a soft comforter from her bed, and placed it around her shoulders. He patted her hand once, "For being such a strict bitch in the daylight, she certainly has a soft heart, then went to his bed – well, couch, actually, and fluffed his pillow. He could sleep in his uniform tonight – he had a spare that he would change into in the morning. And besides, he was so tired…

His head touched the pillow and he slept, forgetting in his exhaustion to close the window.

---

Morning.

The dim light from the window scorched his eyes when he opened them, his pupils screaming in protest; Daisuke blinked a few times, getting used to the feeling, and sat up groggily. He stretched his legs out, yawning – and met unexpected resistance.

"What…?"

Crawling over the covers, he peered at his school bag, nestled between his feet and the arm of the couch. Perplexed, he stared at it. "I don't remember bringing…"

Then he saw the white edge of a note sticking out of the top. He snatched it, recognizing the handwriting as Jun's, and read it quickly. It was short and to the point.

_Found Osamu. What happened with Ken? Meet me. _

He frowned, puzzling over the words. "Osamu?" he spoke aloud to himself. "But Ken said…"

His heart dropped into his stomach, and his hand clenched the note, crinkling it. The realization hit him like stone.

"He lied. I knew I shouldn't have trusted him. I'm so stupid…" He moaned, sinking back against his pillow, billowing against the covers. He peeked out of the blankets only for a moment to seek the clock, noting that it was still early enough that he didn't have to get dressed, and he could sulk for a few minutes longer.

He wailed into the blankets as he clutched them to his face, "I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I'm so stupid. I can't believe…"

"Neither can I," a clipped voice said.

Cho.

Bravely, he peered at her over the top of blanket fuzz; asked dejectedly, "What do you want?"

"Get up. We're going to school early so I can talk to Toshi." Rudely, she ripped the covers from his body; he recoiled, cold and exposed. She raised an eyebrow at the uniform he'd slept in. "But apparently, you're already prepared, hmm?" She threw the blankets on the floor, crossing her arms over her chest. "Brush your teeth and hair. The wrinkles aren't bad. I hope you don't smell."

Walking to the small kitchenette, she grasped the coffee pot and poured the dark liquid into a mug Daisuke hadn't noticed she'd been carrying.

He complained loudly, "I can't even change?"

She sipped her coffee calmly. "No."

"But Cho! You're so mean!"

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she shrugged. "Perhaps." She set her mug on the counter of the kitchenette, considering things for a moment. Then she said to him, "Hurry up and fix yourself. We'll discuss last night on the way to school."

Daisuke hung his head, resigned to his fate, and rose from the couch to brush his teeth, muttering about early mornings and stupid, damned secretaries on his way.

Cho heard, and pursed her lips together tightly while she sipped her morning coffee.

His punishment was increased for two weeks.

---

"Naaaa," Daisuke pouted over his lunch – a sandwich and coke provided kindly by Toshi, since Cho hadn't left him time to make lunch, and was too stingy to give him any money to buy some. "I can't believe she grounded me for two weeks…"

"What did you do?" asked his classmate, a cheery blond named Wallace, from across the table.

_There you go, being stupid again, Daisuke._

He didn't really like lies, so a half-lie would be fine.

"Well, I sort of went out last night and didn't come back until…" He paused, chewing his lip. When **had** he come back? "Well, I don't know when. But it was late."

Wallace looked skeptical. "That's all? And you got two weeks?"

He smirked. "Well, first of all, this is Cho we're talking about –" Wallace nodded here in agreement, his suspicion fading "– and besides, I also called her a stupid, damned secretary."

"Oh." The blond winced. "Yeah, I can see that. But I didn't think Miss Anda got upset that easily…"

Daisuke rolled his eyes – he was really taking a quick look around for Ken. He hadn't seen the boy in History, and he was sore about being lied to and on his guard against any attacks, even though they were still at school.

"Obviously," he said, pausing to take a sip of Coke, "you don't know Anda Cho very well."

Inwardly, Wallace cringed. "And I don't ever want to."

Laughter.

Daisuke smiled faintly, wishing life could be as simple as this all the time.

---

He didn't even consider asking Cho to go out that night. He did his homework – under her watchful and intense eye, of course – and ate dinner without an argument. As he had discovered, Cho couldn't cook, so they ordered a pizza – which was rare. Normally they had TV dinners or rice, because it's rather hard to screw up rice. Even for Cho.

Daisuke took the pizza as an unspoken apology for grounding him.

He hungrily accepted, and went to sleep early that night, nestled on the couch among warm covers and a soft pillow.

He didn't stay there, of course. As soon as he heard Cho's soft breathing from her room he pulled the covers from his body, slipping between them to stand on the carpeting of the apartment.

In. Out. In. Out. Smooth; undisturbed.

Cho was asleep.

He carefully made his way to the door, slipping on his shoes from their place on the mat, and opened the door, cringing when it squeaked.

But Cho's breathing remained the same, so he sucked a deep breath and left the apartment, unsure if he would ever see the strict woman ever again.

Somehow, a small part of him wished he would, and he clenched his hands in his pocket fearfully.

This was by far the worst thing he could have done.

He'd gotten attached.

---

When he arrived in the welcoming shadows of the alley, his chest was clutched by a fear he hadn't known he possessed. His footsteps rushed, his hands clenched, and his eyes widened.

**doki-doki-doki**

Daisuke swallowed, the feeling like silk on sandpaper, and came to a sudden halt in the middle of the deserted, black alley. He looked around him, hoping for a brief moment that he'd found the wrong alley, but…

When his eyes caught on the dagger he'd stashed in between two loose bricks, he knew it was.

And he knew Jun was in trouble.

_Meet me. _

Maybe she meant another day…?

_No._ A sudden realization hit him. _No. God, no…_

The memory floated to him, and he squeezed his eyes and crushed his fist in a heavy grip.

_Found Osamu. _

Ken. Liar. Betrayal. Hurt. Pain…

"I have to go to Ken," he murmured to himself, already headed in the direction, "and make him tell me where Osamu is. Then, I'll find Jun, and…" He bit his lip, the tears stinging his eyes.

"And she'll be fine," he whispered to himself, but he knew the hope was an empty one.

---

Counting windows. Climbing. Waiting.

The routine was like second nature to Daisuke, now. It was easy. Simple.

But it wasn't. This was his sister on the line. His stupid, clumsy, flaky, boy-obsessed sister – who despite all the teasing and foolish jabs he made towards, he loved the most in the world.

He found that moment of silence again, as he had the night before, and swung himself up, rolling into the open window.

Why Ken had left it open again, he didn't know. It would have been easier for Ken to run away – leave, and in turn leave Daisuke guessing.

But he hadn't.

He'd expected him – prepared for his arrival, even; his sword gleamed in the light cast from both the moon and the desk, pointed at Daisuke's throat, while a slim, dark dagger blocked the way.

The gaze between them was electric, and Daisuke felt his palms begin to sweat. A cloud passed over the moon.

"You lied," he accused.

Ken raised a slim eyebrow. "So did you."

He was momentarily surprised, "How did you know?"

"Doesn't matter. I know you and Jun are rebuilding the Underworld."

"Jun found Osamu," Daisuke said confidently.

A shrug. "So I won't have to take care of her." He pressed the sword closer. "Where are your followers?"

"Why did you lie to me?" Again, the tears stung – this time for a different reason.

"Why did you kiss me?" Ken returned.

He fumed, "That's not the point!"

"So you didn't mean it. I didn't think you did."

"That's not it! You looked…" He searched for the words, but only came up with, "You looked like you could use the comfort."

"Lying again," Ken tsk'ed quietly.

"So what?" Daisuke felt the muscles in his legs bunch. He knew he could spring at Ken, at any moment, probably knock the taller teen down, but… "I wasn't using you, or anything."

"Stop lying." Coldly.

"I'm not!" And then he decided – he flew at him, rocketing off his heels and knocking into Ken, who, with yell of surprise, went down quite easily. His hands found Ken's throat; latched, and pressed. He'd dropped his dagger, unfortunately, but Ken had also dropped his sword. Suddenly, the cloud that had earlier enveloped the moon swayed; Ken was bathed in eerie moonlight, and Daisuke's grip lacked in its intensity at the picture he made; blue hair fanning around his face, eyes misted, his face pale and smooth like porcelain…

"What else did you lie about?" he asked, slowly.

Ken said with much difficulty, "Everything," and pushed against him with strength Daisuke hadn't thought him to possess. He rolled, grabbing something Daisuke couldn't see, but was pinned again quickly.

"That wasn't a suicide note, was it?" Daisuke pressed.

"No," the words were mangled. He tried to say something else, but the words gurgled and died in his throat – Daisuke let up the pressure for him to talk. "It was a note to Osamu. I warned him about Jun."

Tears. He glared at him with blazing chocolate eyes, slammed his head into the floor, and exclaimed, "You're a bastard, Ichijouji!"

There was an explosion of pain in his side, and Daisuke looked down to see his own dagger imbedded past his clothing and into his skin.

"But so are you," Ken said, and grinned.

Lost in the pain, Daisuke sank back – a glint to the left caught his eye, and he saw Ken's sword. He grabbed it, saw Ken's brief look of fear, and made a split second decision.

He hit Ken with the blunt of the blade, knocking him out, and grasped the edges of the desk. He pulled himself up, slowly, and reached for the phone. Dialing the numbers quickly, he waited…

"…who are you?" The voice on the other line was skeptic; maybe a little afraid.

"Miyako," he breathed into the phone – it was pressed between his shoulder and ear, his hands both holding the wound on his side while it wept blood. "I have a … problem."

"Daisuke?" His purple-haired friend sounded concerned, and definitely afraid now. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Ken's alive, I've been stabbed, and Jun may be in trouble."

There was a pause while Miyako thought.

"I'll send Takeru," she said softly. "Where are you hurt?"

"I don't know – my side, or something." He winced. "Ribs."

"Oh, God, Dai… Hold on, okay? I'm coming, too."

"Okay," he managed, before he dropped the phone, tumbling to the floor.

The darkness hit him like stone.

Haha! There. Chapter three. I'm on a roll. XD No Daiken yet. Hehe. But just you wait, I'm sure there are more twists and turns to be had in this story!

Remember, feedback is a very nice, very appreciated thing. :D


	5. Recovery

Notes: Okay. Um. Yes. More twists here. Not complete twists, though – they carry on to next chapter, too. This took a little longer to get out, sorry about that. School started, and it was confusing (pity me, for I am an idiot). Also, people are asking questions about the Underworld, so there are some notes included at the end about that. They're completely optional so don't be scared.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

CHAPTER FOUR

Warm candlelight and soft colors welcomed Daisuke when he again opened his eyes. He'd almost forgotten about his injury until he tried to move, and the pain came flooding with angry reinforcements. He strangled a yell, and instead focused on breathing, frowning in worry and discomfort at the thick, heavy feeling in his lungs.

"You're awake." Miyako's voice. He turned his head slightly to face it, and she pressed her warm hand to his forehead.  Said, "I think you'll be fine."

"I always am," he managed a grin.

She shook her head, sinking down into the chair at his bedside. It was a dark room, damp, and the walls were an unhappy gray…

He gasped suddenly. _It can't be – she wouldn't! Miyako would never…_ He grasped Miyako's shirtsleeve tightly between his fingers and brought his face to hers. "Why did you bring me here?" he hissed, and ignored the gurgle.

She frowned at him, folding her fingers around the hand on his shirt in a warm, sisterly fashion. "Dai," she said softly, "we had no choice. We couldn't take you to a public hospital, and ours is full. We had to improvise."

"I don't need a damn hospital." He sulked, leaning back against his pillows – his breath hitched on something warm and thick in his lungs, and he coughed, feeling something wet splatter on his chin.

"…Dai." Miyako took a handkerchief – where had she gotten that? Daisuke wondered absently – and wiped his chin. Then, holding it to his eyes showed him the blood on it and told him sternly, "You almost died, you jerk."

"I did not!" Daisuke pushed himself up with his arms, glaring at her with all the intensity his tired brown eyes could muster. "I – I have to…" He coughed, falling onto his elbows. "I mean…"

"Shh," she told him, returning his glower firmly, with much more force, while gently trying to push him back down with her hands. "Ken's in the next room, we don't want him to wake –"

"You brought him?" He refused to go back down, struggling to keep upright as he yelled. He even managed to regain ground, pushing himself back onto his hands. "You brought him **here**?" He came face-to-face with her again. "Miya, he tried to kill me!"

With a huff and a sudden burst of strength, Miyako had him pressed down firmly against the pillows again. "Stay still, you inconsiderate jerk! I wasn't kidding before, you know. I mean…it was so close, Daisuke. You almost… If that dagger hadn't gotten stuck in your ribs like that…

"Well, that's what they're there for, right?" Daisuke scowled, and looked away with hurt in his eyes. "It doesn't matter, Miya. I'm going to get Ken, right now, and if you even try to stop me you can consider yourself officially thrown out of here." He sneaked a glance at her from the corner of his eyes. "I mean it." A pause. "Really."

She rolled her eyes; brushing gently lavender strands gone astray back to their proper place, and wiped his chin when he coughed again. "First of all, Dai, you couldn't run the Neo Underworld without me. And second," she frowned, "he's unconscious and strapped to the bed. We've removed his weapons; everything's fine. We even think he has a concussion."

"That doesn't mean jack shit, Miyako, and you know it."

"Well, we also found…something…imbedded in his back – by the spine."

"So?" Dai didn't look convinced.

"So, when we took it out, Ken stopped…"

"Stopped what?" Daisuke scowled. "Trying to kill you?"

"Well, basically," she shrugged.

There was a pause between them. Then, "Why the hell were you poking around his back, anyway?"

"I can do whatever I want, Daisuke. Shut up."

"So we've got that going for us," a new voice said, entering the room.

"Knock next time," Miyako said, frowning over her shoulder. There was perhaps a glare lurking somewhere in her eyes, judging by the tone of her voice, but was obscured by the reflection of her glasses. So instead, he was presented with a shiny picture of Takeru in the oculars sitting perched on her nose. He turned to watch the exchange, smirking.

"On **what?**" Takeru exclaimed, gesturing around the room with his arms in his defense. "There are no doors in this place! The walls are brick and concrete! And," he paused to sniff the air, "it smells, too. Really, Daisuke…" He sank to his knees beside the bed, glaring at him – although the glimmer in his eyes said he was kidding, "Next time you decide to rebuild the Underworld, find a better place, would you? You really suck as a leader."

"Hey, it was the only place available that was underground!" he played along. From the corner of his eye, he could see Miyako giving them both disapproving looks.

"But an abandoned sewer, Dai?" Takeru shook his head, tsk'ing softly. "Not exactly hygienic."

"Shut up, blondie. You're not exactly hygienic, yourself. " Daisuke coughed – without any blood, thankfully; he didn't want anyone else seeing how weak he really was – and fingered his bandage gingerly, until Miyako slapped his hand away. "Besides," he continued, "Jun found it. We figured it was fine. No water, no alligators – and hey, we even put down rugs!"

"Ratty, nasty rugs," Takeru muttered, rising, and toed at one of the aforementioned rugs. His boot pulled one of the threads in it, and he had to shake his leg briefly to get it off. Daisuke smothered a giggle. Takeru glared, running a hand through his hair – it seemed he was a little insecure about Daisuke's previous hygiene comment, "And that's only in **some** rooms. But it doesn't really matter." He poked Daisuke in the arm, dodging Miyako's swipe for his head – she was rather protective of Daisuke, for all their bantering and arguments; they were something like soul siblings, he thought. Turning his thoughts back to Daisuke, he said lightly, "You get better, will you?" and smiled.

Waving over his shoulder, he left. His voice echoed around the corner, "After all, we need our leader in full health!" and his shoes tapped against the concrete after the rug ended. There was the sound of a gate closing, then silence.

Suddenly solemn, Daisuke turned his eyes to Miyako. "Did I really…" He paused; gestured to the red-stained bandages around his middle. He supposed Miyako had her reasons for not letting him touch them. He would listen to her more often, if his pride allowed it. Eventually, he swallowed and managed a tiny murmur, "Is it really that serious?"

"Of course not, stupid." She sighed and ruffled the mass of wine-colored spikes on his head, tossing her own hair over her shoulder. "You just really scared us, that's all." He swatted furiously at her hands.

"Then why the hell did you tell me it **was**?" he demanded, catching one of her hands and twisting it. Miyako hissed, grabbed his hands with her other one, and returned the favor. It seemed like she had forgotten about his injury – or maybe his hands were just open game, since they weren't immediately connected to the angry wound. Or maybe she was just vengeful. Personally, he believed in the last one the most.

"I didn't!" she yelled. "The first thing I said to you was you're going to be fine!" She wrung his hands angrily. "Stop twisting things, you jerk, or I'll twist **you!**"

He looked at her hands, and how they were twisting his own, and avoided pointing out the obvious. Instead, he smirked. "Is that a threat?"

"No!" And suddenly, she threw his hands aside, glaring. "I mean…just…" She sighed, seeming to calm, and raked her hands through her long hair. "Never mind. You're just so stupid, Dai." She looked at his bandages and caught her lip between her teeth. "Just rest," she said, much more softly.

"I am not!" he said hotly, in reference to her insult, "I'm smarter than you are." He reached for her hair to pull it, but she moved swiftly away. So he sulked instead. "And I refuse to rest, anyway – not while that bastard is rooming next door…"

He trailed off when he heard rapid footsteps, and tilted his head to the side. "Huh?"

Then Takeru came bolting in again, in and unintentional answer to his question, looking pained.

"You need to see this," he said, and looked straight at Miyako.

"Why?" She rose, sensing the urgency. "What happened?"

He spared a quick glance to Daisuke and winced. He spoke slowly, "Jun's back."

The redhead sat up quickly, his eyes brightly burning. "Where is she?" he demanded, already throwing the blankets from his body. "I want to see her! Is she okay?"

A soothing of Miyako's hand against his shoulder halted him. "Stay here," she commanded, and left the room swiftly. He could here frantic, frightened whispering outside, then her strong voice once again. "Show me," and they walked away – he listened to their footsteps as they went.  
The gate slammed shut. He threw his blankets aside, holding his wound as he hobbled slowly, weakly, but steadily to the hallway. He leaned against the cool wall there, cherishing the feeling of it against his mildly feverish skin. Daisuke closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against it, and just breathed. His mind drifted…

The sound of faint footsteps brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes to find twin violet pools, startling him – he gasped and pulled back, his breath hitching on the familiar warm substance, and he coughed, violently, holding his side as the blood spattered on the floor…

When Daisuke looked back up, Ken was staring at him, his head tilted to the side; his hair sliding down over his shoulder like a twilight waterfall, looking so beautiful…

_I wish things hadn't turned out this way._

"…Why?" Ken asked, softly. Daisuke blinked, hard, and held his other hand over his mouth – his throat itched and he feared coughing again. Through his fingers, he mumbled,

"What did you say?"

"Why do you wish…things hadn't turned out this way?" A pause, and a small frown came over Ken's thin, pale face – he tilted his head the other way, and Daisuke was mesmerized by the way it flowed like dark water. "And what is 'this way'?"

Daisuke quickly harnessed his mind, forcing it to concentrate. It was hard. He felt lightheaded… "How did you know what I was thinking?" he demanded, harshly.

Ken opened his mouth to answer, then halted, his lips searching for the words but failing to form them. His shoulders slumped, "I don't know."

"You don't **know**?"

He hunched further – whispered, "I don't know."

"Have you always been able to do…that?" he asked, his eyes cautious.

_He knows what I'm thinking. HeknowswhatI'mthinkingheknowswhatI'mthinking…_

His spine tingled – he had a distinct feeling of being **watched**, and now he knew where it was coming from. Feeling silly, he removed his hand from his mouth and instead clamped it over one of his ears in an immature attempt for protection. It didn't help.

"Yes…I think," Ken shook his head – his eyes glassed over and his body swayed. He swallowed roughly, "I'm not sure. Maybe not." Sway, sway, sway. It was pretty to watch, but Daisuke was becoming nervous – he was afraid Ken would fall over. "I can't…remember."

Suddenly, something clicked in Daisuke's brain – he had a brief flashback of himself hitting Ken with the blunt edge of a sword, and them both falling over.

Concussion.

_"I can't…remember."_

"Shit." Feeling suddenly guilty and absolutely **trapped**, he pushed Ken aside and fled into the hallway as fast as his injury could take him.

The gate screeched, rusted, as it slammed behind him.

_"I don't know."_

_I'm sorry,_ he thought to himself. _I've never been sorry about hurting someone before – but God, this time it's different. I didn't take his life, but I took it away anyway. I'm sorry, I'm sorry…_

His side throbbed. Daisuke paused to pant against a wall, and his eyebrows dipped, furrowing together. In this position, he was suddenly struck by a thought.

_How much does he remember?_

His spine was tingling again – his heart beat faster as he turned around, and…

"**Daisuke! **What the hell are you doing out of bed?"

Miyako's sharp voice brought relief. His shoulders drooped with relief, and he slumped against the cool walls, sliding down into a sitting position. He grinned at her, "You scared the shit out of me."

"Serves you right." Miyako's feet appeared in his vision, and he cast them upwards to watch her face – his happy expression faded. Her face was grim and her forehead was creased with strain and worry. He whispered,

"What's wrong?"

She chewed her lip unhappily between white teeth; mumbled through it somehow, "Jun's back, you know."

He raised his eyebrows, his brown eyes lighting like a Christmas tree. "That's right!" Using the wall and Miyako's hurriedly outstretched hand for balance, he rose, grimacing and hissing in pain – but he rose.  "Can I see her?"

"No!" Miyako's hand grasped his, tightly and so hard it left finger marks when he wrenched his hand away, yelling,

"Why the hell not? She's my sister! I'm going to see her!"

"No! Daisuke, you **can't!** She's in bad condition, Dai…"

"She **isn't!** She's my sister and she isn't hurt at all!"

"She **is**, Dai! Jun is hurt! She crawled in and collapsed –"

"Shut up," he snapped. "I don't want to hear it. She's fine." He tried to shove past, but a screeching pain in his side brought sent him crumpling to his knees in heaving breaths. Blood splattered on the floor, and he curled forwards, cradling his body with his arms. Miyako was beside him in a heartbeat, holding his shoulders and rubbing his back. She asked, worry thick in her voice,

"Are you okay?"

He did not have the strength or breath to respond. Instead, he concentrated on breathing, and on the pain.

_Make it go away…_

"I wish I could."

The soothing of Miyako's hands on his suddenly jumped away – she launched to her feet, pulling a dagger from only God knew where, and twirled it before facing Ken, poised to throw. "How did you get out here?"

He looked puzzled. "I walked…"

"We tied you down!"

"Yes," he frowned, "that did make it rather difficult."

"How…how did you get out?" By now the dagger was pressed against his pale throat. Daisuke saw a sad, frightened flash of emotion in Ken's eyes, and the guilt weighed heavier on his shoulders.

_Did he look like that…when I…?_

"I untied them."

"**How?**" Miyako pressed the blade into his skin – a thin red line appeared. Daisuke's breath hitched, and he coughed; Miyako didn't seem to notice.

"I…" Ken pulled away from Miyako and the dagger; shook his head and held two fingers to his temples. "I don't know. I just did."

"Did you use a weapon?"

"No." Shook his head again.

"Then **how**?"

He tapped his fingers against his skin, looking uncomfortable. "Stop asking me questions," he murmured – then blinked, digging into his pocket; it seemed as though he'd just remembered something. "But, I thought you might want this," and he pressed something small into Miyako's hand.

Daisuke stood, shakily, as Ken walked away, and peered into Miyako's hand. "What is that?" he asked. His voice was raw.

Miyako blinked, slowly, before a look of absolute terror crossed her face. "A tracking device." Twirling a strand of hair nervously around her fingers, she bit her lip and cast her frightened eyes to Daisuke. "Osamu will be here soon."

Well, yes. That was the chapter. I hope no one was too confused – but if so, don't worry, because I'll be clearing things up next chapter on Ken's situation (mentally and physically and emotionally), and Osamu's, and even Jun's. See you then! Keep reviewing!

UNDERWORLD NOTES:

_Underworld_ is a haven for assassins living in the modern world, founded by the Motomiyas (Daisuke and Jun's parents). They killed off unjust leaders and other unhappy people, a la Weiss Kreuz (you may have noticed that already, though; I was watching WK when I first started this fic). It disbanded after the founders and other leaders were killed (probably by Osamu and Ken's family), along with many other important assassins – the survivors went into hiding. Daisuke and Jun started the _Neo Underworld_, a society in a nasty abandoned sewer system that they fixed up (don't ask how; they had a **lot** of time on their hands, okay?), with their friends or close followers (also known as the rest of the Digimon cast, lol). For future notice, Neo Underworld has sort of been nicknamed "Neo," so if you hear me referring to it as such, you'll understand why.

I think that should clear it up a little bit. If there are any more questions, you can always email me/IM me/leave a review asking me something. I don't mind. Actually, I would be thrilled. So ask away, people!

And don't forget to review. Because I **love** reviews. After all, doesn't everyone?


	6. Downfall

Notes: Ouch. Character death coming up – I'm not entirely sure if you'll care or not, though. School's going well – I've been sacrificing almost all of my writing time for homework, but it's paid off (let's all stop a moment to admire my 4.0, baby!). I hope this chapter meets your expectations, and I hope you didn't all lose interest while waiting. 

CHAPTER FIVE

The warning bells shrilled while the screams echoed over them. The message was frenzied, frightened, and fast: Alert, class five of five, code six. Reason classified. Upper personnel please report to branch one.

And stuck somewhere in the middle, hidden in the twisting halls of branch one, Daisuke sat, dazed, sitting in a ratty overstuffed chair and coughing red into his hand. Miyako paced, Takeru chewed his knuckles, and Ken was mysteriously absent – in the face of such impending doom and catastrophe, they hadn't followed him, merely given the order to either evacuate or gather in the commons, where they stood now.

Frantic and approaching hysterical, Miyako clutched the device previously given to her by Ken tightly in her right hand, making a small indention in her palm – but despite this and all outward appearances, her breathing was calm, and a strand of hair was twirled slowly around the fingers of her left hand. Slowly, she took in a deep breath and hesitantly released it; eventually said, "We are **so** screwed."

Takeru nodded, looking distracted. Daisuke ran a hand through his spikes, ruffling them.

"Yeah, probably," the redhead murmured, "but we can put up a fight, can't we?"

"That would be a poor choice," Ken mumbled, surprising them all by appearing in the doorway, leaning against it as though he'd been standing there for ages. Three heads turned simultaneously to gawk at the dark-haired mystery that always seemed to show up at the wrong – but always right, in a way – time. His twilight eyes stared fuzzily at the ground, the candles reflecting in them like stars. "Osamu's smarter and stronger than all of you. You can't win…"

"Well, **excuse** me, Ken, but what else can we do?" Daisuke scowled at him, sitting up straighter – his attention piqued and his ego challenged. "I'd rather fight than sit around and wait to be killed."

Ken only shook his head again. "You can't win," he murmured, fingering a spot on his back with a pale frown on his face.  He suddenly lifted the back of his shirt, craning his neck to inspect it, and found a taped bandage. They'd really removed it, then. "…Where did you put it?" turning to Miyako, the frown deepened. The lavender-haired woman in question only blinked, tilting her head to the side – the waterfall cascade of her silky hair caressed her shoulders, lovely. Then she noticed what he was questioning, and her eyebrows rose in understanding.

"I gave the chip to Koushirou," she said, her eyes flickering from Ken, to Takeru, to Daisuke, and back to Ken again, indecisive. 

"What would Koushirou want with it?" Takeru asked, blinking his blue eyes rapidly.

"Well," she looked flustered, twirling a strand of hair around her finger – it was becoming a nervous habit, lately, "I didn't exactly know…I mean…" She bit her lip and fixed her gaze on the ground, a healthy flush filling her cheeks with a pink hue in embarrassment. "I didn't really know what it was, and I thought he might." Miyako had always hated admitting ignorance, or that she was wrong about something.

"And did he?" the blond pressed.

"Probably not," Ken said softly, earning a glare from Miyako.

"Don't **say** that! You don't even know him! Koushirou is smarter than you think," she said; her face glowed as she talked of her idol and mentor, "and if he can't figure it out, no one can."

"You could have asked me," the pale teen said dully.

"I take it that means you're remembering more." Daisuke leaned forward, his brown eyes lighting up in brilliant determination.

"I suppose so," Ken shrugged in cool indifference.

"So…" Daisuke tapped his fingers on his knee, staring at him, and thinking. _Then do you remember how you read minds?_

"Not yet," Ken shrugged.

"I **knew** it!" Ignoring Miyako's scream of protest, Daisuke pushed himself from his chair, and in turn propelling him in Ken's direction to come nose-to-nose with him. "You're doing it again!"

_How does he **do** that, anyway?_ He wondered.

"Do **what**?" Ken's eyebrows were sharply bent in concentration and confusion as he nibbled on his lower lip in thought.

"That!" Daisuke exclaimed, tapping the side of his head. "You see what I mean? I didn't say anything, but you knew!"

"Oh, that," Ken sighed. "That's not **my** fault. You're projecting like crazy. It's hard not to hear you."

"What?" Miyako looked quickly between them. "Projecting? Hear him? What are you talking about?"

"Then why couldn't you hear me before?" Daisuke wanted to know, folding his arms across his chest and ignoring Miyako completely. He gave him a pointed look, feeling an oncoming victory, but…

"I always could."

"Could what?" Miyako was frustrated. Takeru joined in as well,

"Yeah, what are you guys **talking** about?"

Both were ignored. Daisuke started, blinking. "Then why…" And suddenly, all the color drained from his face and he stumbled back a few paces, covering his mouth with a shaking, tan hand. "Oh, God. Shit, man – **Christ!** No wonder you – and that's why you – and that's how you… Shit!"

"**What**?" Miyako demanded. "He's what? Finish your sentences, you heathen! Didn't you learn anything in school?"

Here, Ken tilted his head to the side, his dark hair sliding like a curtain across his eyes. "What are you talking about…?" As if experiencing the same grief and fear as Daisuke, he gripped the sides of his head and took deep breaths. "What do you mean? I don't remember…"

"Don't pull that on me, Ichijouji," the redhead said, seeming to recover from his shock and instead glaring at the other teen with all the black hatred he could muster in his dark brown eyes. "How could you do that? You're a monster!"

"Why is he a monster?" Miyako asked, flustered and genuinely annoyed. Takeru hadn't held that much interest in the subject in the beginning, Miyako being more of a natural gossip than him, and contented himself with simply watching the exchange.

Ken recoiled as if slapped, pain darkening his eyes; he drew further into the doorway, a shadow falling on his face. "I am not," he said firmly.

"Christ! Don't even try to deny it – you … no one could have done **those** things without, without being like you," Daisuke said, practically spitting the last word. "I can't stand people like you! You're so **fake** – I can't stand it! You can't play with people like this, it isn't –" He trailed away on the last word, rolling into a coughing fit and covering his mouth with his hand. Ken stood, stiff in the doorway, and pressed his head between his hands, and whispered into the lack of conversation,

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't done anything, and I'm…" He swallowed harshly here, obviously fighting his own emotions, and the next words came out very, very softly: "And I'm **not** a monster."

Bewildered and shocked by the exchange, Takeru took the moment to look around the room, and froze. "Where are the others?" he demanded, turning suddenly to Miyako, whose eyes widened relative to the size of saucers.

"Oh, shit!" And she pushed Ken aside, rushing out into the hallway. The conversation between Ken and Daisuke halted. Takeru winced, listening to the rusty gate open and slam shut, and hung his head. As he, too, passed by Ken and Daisuke, he whispered,

"We're all gonna die here, I just know it." He paused. "I'll find my brother and Tai. They'll know what to do," and then he was gone.

Slowly, Daisuke realized that only he and Ken were left. Gripped by indecision, he stared at Ken with wary eyes, debating whether to believe him or not. Then, eventually, he said, "So, you're remembering."

Ken bowed his head, loosening his grip as he sensed the hostility melt away into the shadows. "Yes."

"Then," Daisuke approached him, still holding a hand to his mouth and speaking muffled through his fingers, "What was that…thing…that they found?"

"Osamu's chip, you mean?"

"**Osamu?**" Daisuke gasped. "Did he put that there?"

Ken looked puzzled as he responded, "Of course. It's been there for as long as I can remember."

"What does it do?" Daisuke asked, suddenly curious – the rage was forgotten easily as was typical to his fickle nature.

The dark-haired frowned at his prying, suddenly becoming interested in the candles strewn around the room. They really needed electricity in this place…

"It's like a link," he mumbled.

"Uh-huh… so?"

"It's like having Osamu in my head, constantly."

"And?" Daisuke leaned forward.

"And that's…" Ken bit his lip, appearing to be debating internally, then simply gave an elegant shrug of his shoulders, swiping his dark hair back behind his ears. "And that's all I remember."

"Bullshit," the redhead murmured. He opened his mouth to say more, but a thought struck him: the others. Daisuke's head snapped up, and he pushed Ken roughly aside, much like Miyako had previously. "I'll let this go for now," he said, hurriedly, "but don't expect to get out of this so easily."

Ken watched him go, looking wretchedly alone and melancholy. He heard the gate open, and Ken slumped to his knees, hanging his head – again, his hair provided a veil for his eyes, shielding him from the cruelty surrounding him. "Osamu," he whispered, "I wish you'd just leave me alone." But the silence following the gate opening piqued his interest; he rose, peering around the corner of the wall, and saw Daisuke leaning against the gate, his eyes closed and his hands pressed to his side. Ken felt compelled to help him, despite the angry words exchanged earlier, and crossed the distance between them.

"What do you want?" Daisuke asked, glaring at him.

"Did you reopen it?" Ken asked.

"Reopen what?" the redhead scowled.

"That," Ken nodded towards the red spot beginning to blotch the shirt underneath his tan hands. "You reopened it."

"Did not," Daisuke denied, but winced and pressed his hand more firmly against the red. When he tried to move towards Ken, he wobbled – suddenly uncertain on his feet – and a steadying arm was put around his shoulders.

"Why are you out here in this condition?" The other asked, softly. "You'd think they'd pay more attention to one of their own, hurt like this."

"I'm **fine,**" Daisuke hissed through his teeth.

"You aren't," and indeed, he wasn't. But he was of course too proud to realize it. 

"But Miyako says…"

"Miyako doesn't know everything," Ken said, and took his arm as well. Daisuke contented himself with merely glaring at the darker-haired teen, feeling his skin tingle underneath the touch – with both hatred, and… something…

"But at least she tries," he mumbled, trying to distract his mind.

"She shouldn't try to tell you what she doesn't know." He paused, flustered by Daisuke's inability, but only momentarily. "Walk," Ken instructed, and together, they made their way slowly down the hall. Daisuke seemed to forget for the moment that he was walking with his enemy, slowly down the halls of his own base. Only the familiar weight of a butterfly knife in its sheath, securely inside his sleeve, reminded him of the sort of life he lived.

"Where are we going?" Daisuke asked, softly.

"To see your sister," was the simple answer. Daisuke gasped,

"You know where she is?"

"Of course," Ken said, his eyes never straying from the path in front of them. "This is my brother's work, after all."

"But … that thing – it was removed, right?"

He flinched. "Some things cannot be removed."

"But, if you're still…linked, or whatever – if you can still read his mind, then what was it even there in the first place?" At Ken's silence, Daisuke risked a glance at him – he was shocked to see the pained expression there. The gears turned slowly in his head… "Or was that not its only purpose?"

Abruptly, a feminine scream ripped through the atmosphere and both boys halted in their steps. Daisuke gasped, trying to push Ken aside, but a pale hand clutched his arm firmly. "Hey!" he yelled, trying to wrench his arm away, "stop that! Didn't you hear her? That was Miya!" His eyes filled with tears – he felted betrayed, he felt angry, he felt…so…indescribable. What was that other feeling? He ignored it, instead focusing on his anger, "I knew you were a monster, I knew you were against us – you knew this would happen, how could you, I don't believe…!"

"Quiet," Ken instructed. The arm around Daisuke's shoulder flexed, pulling him closer – Daisuke began to say something again, but Ken shook his head quickly, pulling him suddenly against the wall. He tried to struggle, but Ken rested his chin among the soft red spikes and whispered, "I think Osamu's coming…"

At these words, Daisuke stiffened and seemed to remember just who he was huddling in the shadows with. Ken's touch against his body seemed to burn, and he would have screamed and pulled away if not for the desperate fear pushing against his heart. His eyes fluttered shut and he held his breath, pressing his face into Ken's shoulder, and listened to the contrast between Ken's calm heartbeat and his own insane one – it was pounding so fast he felt light-headed.

_Is he…is he still my enemy? Is this a trick? How does he know Osamu's coming?_ He wondered, unconsciously clenching the material of Ken's shirt between his fingertips. His heart seemed to spasm when an answering voice spoke into his mind,

_I told you, we're linked_.

Perhaps from the surprise, perhaps from his injury, or perhaps from the fear…whatever the reason, at these responding words, Daisuke's hands dropped away as he slumped to the ground. The light-headedness had caught up to him, and he had passed out. Ken stared down at him, his blood feeling cold as it pulsed along at an insanely calm rate, and he eventually decided to gather the redhead into his arms. He cleared his mind, knowing that doing this would make it just that much harder for Osamu to find him, and sneakily began to glide through the shadows and down the hall to regroup his thoughts and eventually find Miyako and possibly Takeru.

-

"So let me get this straight," Taichi was saying, his eyes bright as he looked fiercely at Takeru, "what you're saying is that, basically, we're screwed, but we're going to try to kick his ass a little before we bite the big one?"

"Uh, not quite in those terms, Tai, but…yeah."

"It's not fair," Yamato said, his eyes set determinedly on the task of cleaning his blade, "that the same family that destroyed us years ago is going to destroy us again. I mean," he paused, sighing, "isn't it enough to ruin us once? There should be a rule, somewhere, that you can only bring down the Underworld once."

"But we weren't really destroyed," Takeru said, frowning at his older brother. "Neo's just as good, if not better, than the original."

"I know," Yamato said, throwing his cleaning cloth irritably to the floor. "But it's not the same. We lost a lot of good people, a lot of honest friends."

"As honest as an assassin can be," Taichi said, cracking a smirk. Yamato glared at him, as if to say: "This is no time for jokes," and Taichi wisely resumed his previous frown.

"Well, anyway," Yamato began, absently cracking his knuckles, "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to take this guy."

"We have to wait for the others, first," Taichi said. Remembering something, Takeru looked between them both with a disapproving look.

"That reminds me," he pointed a finger at them, "Why didn't you meet us in Daisuke's room earlier?"

"Daisuke's room?" Taichi blinked his large eyes slowly. "We didn't know about that."

"But," Takeru looked baffled, "Miyako told me she asked Mimi to tell you…"

"Well she didn't, obviously," Yamato rolled his eyes, "Knowing Mimi, she was either distracted by a cute pair of shoes or a cute boy – or maybe both."

Taichi cut in, "But speaking of Miyako, where'd she go?"

"Oh. She went to get everyone else," Takeru shrugged easily.

"Oh," the older blond leaned back in his chair, popping his neck absently, pressing the palm of his hand against the side of his chin. "Well, she'd better hurry up. I haven't got all day, you know." A sudden scream startled them all, and had Yamato in the doorway in seconds, looking down the hallway, blue eyes wide and clear.

"What the fuck was that?" Taichi was beside him, a hand resting on Yamato's shoulder.

Takeru was pale. "That was Miyako," he said. The three of them exchanged a worried look, then bolted into the hallway.

-

He was faintly aware of a warm thickness dripping down his forehead and into his eyes, staining his vision and blurring his eyes. It became darker as his limbs disobeyed him more frequently, but he didn't care. His glasses were broken; a shard dug into his forehead, the cause of the trickle of red between his eyes, but still, he did not care.

Ichijouji Osamu never surrendered, never gave in. He did not feel pain. He did not care.

Each breath he took was more labored, but he pressed on; his steps were covered by a practiced silence, which only comes with experience, and the slight weight of a small switchblade in his left hand was a constant reassurance. His right hand was bent horribly, and was pressed to his chest. He was hurt, but he was not yet beaten – Jun had proved to be more of a challenge than he'd originally anticipated, but he absolutely **never** made the same mistake twice. This time would be right.

The tan, battered form was laid out on a white bed. Bloodstained hair fanning over her pillow, Jun appeared defeated, but the tiny smile on her bruised lips was enough to tell the world that she had returned home satisfied and victorious.

Osamu begged to differ.

He crept towards her; the twin dribbles of blood running from the corners of his lips seemed like pale shadows of fangs, glinting sinisterly in the soft candlelit glow that permeated the room. He came to her side, pausing to appreciate the bruises darkening her skin before purring, "Hello."

Jun's brown eyes snapped open, and the vaguely smug smile on her face pressed into a panicked expression. She fought to sit up, but failed; she fell backwards and stared at Osamu with large frightened eyes. "Bastard," she eventually whispered.

"Probably," he said and smiled with an appearance of eerie calm, the switchblade snapping out from the cover of his pale hand. "But it's what I do."

"I won't let you do this," she began; her normally warm eyes were frigid with despair and hatred. "I swear, we're stronger than you. You can't –"

Here, Osamu interrupted her in a most unpleasant way.

Carelessly, he buried the blade into Jun's middle, his thumb simultaneously pressing a second switch on the handle. Jun's scream was covered by Osamu's broken hand as a second pair of blades snapped out sideways. Osamu cheerfully twisted and dragged the weapon in patterns until the frantic body beneath him slumped. Absolutely calm, he slid both buttons to their proper place and pulled the blade carefully from Jun's body, wiped it on his dirty shirt, and sighed. "What to do with her now…"

Osamu cast his cold gaze around the room, landing on a cart of medical supplies. He slid the switchblade into his pocket and, grasping the handle of the cart in one hand, tipped it over and watched all the equipment tumble or smash to the ground. He seemed satisfied, setting the cart upright, and heaved Jun with minimal difficulty onto the cart. Hearing footsteps echo down the corridor, he smiled and straightened, directing the cart with one good hand. Osamu turned his head to the side, saw a flash of purple, and pushed. Pleasantly, he began to stroll down the opposite direction, satisfied with his diversion.

There was the sound of clattering wheels, a collision, thud, and then a piercing scream as Miyako discovered Jun's body.

Wow. That's the end of chapter five. This fic has maybe a chapter or two to go before the climax – and probably a chapter after that to smooth things out. And if anyone's wondering, there's a **huge** reason for Ken's suddenly personality switch. It's coming up…next chapter, maybe. I don't know. You'll just have to wait and see.

Remember to review, please!


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